Slash
by The Brown-ie
Summary: Lois Lane pissed off Psycho Pirate, an evil emotional-empath who finds it hard to forgive. When he escapes and exacts his long-awaited revenge, Lois's dreams become waking nightmares as her self-appointed rival, Bruce Wayne, becomes a threat to her sanity...and her marriage! Can Lois figure out what's real? Can Clark save her from herself?


**Slash**

_Late Spring_

Arkham's sirens and searchlights roared to life. The guards and dogs could be heard -shouting, baying- rushing over its grounds. Their footfalls like a frenzied herd, stampeding across the plain. Roger Hayden smiled, sinking deep down, down, down into the marsh that surrounded the asylum. He trudged through murky waters, breathing steadily through a hallow reed until he reached the other side.

Freedom.

Roger shook the muck from his body as he crawled onto the asphalt of the parking lot. He weaved through the cars until he found one that would not be missed. It was a pick-up truck, dotted with rust. The tires were nearly bald and need of some air but it would do. As he picked the lock with Pamela's hairpin, Roger Hayden was overcome with a need that all super villains feel when they have accomplished something: brag about it.

He leaped onto the hood of the old pick-up and crowed:

"And I, Psycho Pirate, will never be contained by the likes of any man! I am the sower of sorrow! The weaver of wariness! The jester of jealousy! The magistrate of misery! The count of-"

"Oh, there he is," an indifferent sounding voice cut him off mid soliloquy. "Psycho Pirate is over here. He's raving about something or other by Kent's jalopy..." Roger swiveled to see a dark-haired woman in a pencil skirt and puffy blouse pointing her number 2 pencil at him with an air of sheer boredom. Her violent eyes stared at him with little concern, as if she was talking about the weather.

"Wench!"

"No one says wench anymore," she drawled as the guards raced passed her to tackle him to the ground. He grunted as the captain dug his bony knee into the small of his back. "Looks like this story turned out to be a bust. You can have it, Smallville." Roger struggled to lift his head. Who could that fascist fashionista be speaking too? Through his tears of pain, he saw him. There next to her was a rather sizable but drab looking man. He was easily over six feet tall and with his crumpled, over-sized suit seemed twice as wide. The man blinked blearily at him through thick-rimmed, coke bottle glasses. He was entirely forgettable.

"Well, gee, Lois," his voice nasally and overly naive. "Thanks a bunch."

"You must be the blandest creature on Earth!" he roared at the frumpy figure. "How could I be bested by the likes of you?!"

"Watch it, pal!" the woman shouted, getting right in his face, nose-to-nose. "I only get to talk to him that way, ya'hear?" She cuffed him on the side of his head with her notepad before the guards hauled him off. "And _I _am the one that rained on your parade, jackass!"

"Lois Lane?!" Roger shrieked, his face pressed against the cold steel bars of the paddy wagon. "I swear to the Entity, when I am free that I will feast upon your greatest fears! I will have my revenge on you, Lois Lane!" A guard tapped his nose with a billy-club as the wagon began to roll away. Lois waved goodbye, her slender hands donning a rude gesture that made her forgettable friend blush from collar to crown.

**Late Spring (Several Years Later or Something.)**

Lois Lane considered herself a pretty well put-together modern woman. She was the Daily Planet's top reporter, a best-selling author, and Pulitzer Prize winner twice over. Oh. And she was married to Superman which she guessed was pretty cool. Though with all his might, he managed to never get a damn sock in the laundry basket.

But today was a good day. She nearly skipped down through the bullpen, having procured the last and only jelly donut to escape Lombard's pudgy grasp. Perry had put her latest piece about Lex Corp on the top fold of the front page; Jimmy accidentally bought her two coffees; and Clark let her do _that_ to him last night. Yes: _THAT_.

Everything was falling together perfectly or at least until she rounded the corner to her desk. Suddenly, Lois felt a sharp pain in the ball of her foot. "Ow!"

"Oh, my! Are you all right, miss?" asked a janitor appearing, seemingly, out of nowhere. Lois hobbled over to her chair and lifted her injured foot into her lap for a better look.

"Ow, ow, ow," she moaned. "I stepped on a jumbo thumb tack..." With a sharp gasp of pain, she plucked it out from the sole of her shoe. Gingerly, she of her shoe to assess the damage. There was minimal bleeding but it still hurt.

"So, sorry, miss!" the janitor squawked, panic marring his kind face. "That there freckled kid dropped an entire box of them earlier. Been picking them up all mornin'... Let me get you that First Aid kit."

"Oh, no worries!" she reassured him. Lois rummaged through her desk drawers, tossing out a sports bra and a rubber chicken before she found what she was looking for. "I got a alcohol swab and a band-aid right here." The man bowed his head as he wheeled his cart way through the maze of the bullpen just as Clark lumbered his way over to her desk.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose to scan his wife's body.

"Yeah, I just stepped on something," Lois replied, holding up her hand. She slapped the band aid onto her foot before cramming it back into her slightly too small pumps. "I've suffered through worse." Clark was about to protest when Perry stormed out of his office. He looked flustered as he tried to smooth the few remaining hairs he had on his greying head.

"Look alive people! The boss-man is arriving in 10!" he bellowed, shaking the donut crumbs from from shirt.

"Bruce Wayne?" Cat asked, wheeling herself beside Lois. "It's not even the end of the financial quarter..."

"Maybe he thinks we publish nudie mags," Ron said sarcastically. "Scouting for new arm-candy."

"Nah, that's floor 3rd, dude," Steve chided. "He must be hear to chop some heads. Wayne Enterprises is sending their loveable goof to soften the blow." He mimicked a violent gesture, falling limp in his chair. Cat snorted, pushing Steve away with her foot.

The elevator opened with a swoosh and the room fell silent. Bruce Wayne emerged from the doors looking like a model fresh off the pages of GQ. His suit was immaculately tailored; his tie and dress shoes reeked of silk and Italian leather. Perry scrabbled to meet him as he made his way into the center of the room.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne!" he said with a lop-sided smile and a still crooked tie. "What you brings you here today?"

"Love," Bruce replied huskily, eyes hooded with lust. He pushed Perry aside and strode right up to Clark.

"E-excuse me?" Kent sputtered as the man face was inches from his own.

"You heard me, hayseed," the man whispered, their lips dangerously close. Without warning, Clark wrenched the tie from his neck while Bruce made quick work of his dress shirt. Buttons fell to the floor with a clatter. Lois panicked. Surely her co-workers would see Clark's costume, but there was nothing but his expansive, swarthy chest.

"I want you," the timber of voice in urgency. With a shift motion, Bruce cleared a nearby desk, hopped on and pulled Clark over him.

"Oh, God, Bruce," her husband moaned as the billionaire planted butterfly kisses along the column of his throat.

"I love you!" the man cried. "I want to do things to you that your wife can't!"

"No," Clark protested, even though Bruce began to unbuckle his belt and he had kicked his own shoes clear across the room. "I love Lois...Lois...Lois... LOIS!"

Lois jolted awake. She found herself with a half eaten donut in her lap and Cat Grant screaming hotly in her flushed face.

"Are you all right, girl?" Cat asked, her voice filled with concern. She pressed her hand against Lois' forehead. "She's burning up!"

"We thought you were having a seizure!" Ron cried. "Should I call 911?!"

"Where's Bruce?" Lois asked, absently wiping frosting from her mouth.

"Bruce? As in Bruce Wayne?" Steve replied. Her co-workers exchanged worried looks. "In Gotham, I guess..."

"Lois! Lois!" she heard her husband cry as he jogged down the center aisle. "Is she alright?" He helped his wife to her feet, his fingers testing her pulse. It was racing; her eyes were glassy; and she looked like she had just run a marathon.

"Take me home, please," Lois found herself saying before anyone else could answer. "I think I've had enough donuts..."

The illusions grew more intense over the course of the week. Lois saw her husband and Bruce copulating everywhere. On the kitchen table, lathered in cake batter and hot sauce. Perched on the edge of the bathroom sink, shampoo and scented bath soap everywhere. In their goddamn martial on their good-good sheet set her Ma Kent gave them. _God,_ Lois thought, fanning herself with a Cosmo magazine. _I would be pissed... if this wasn't so fucking hot._ Every part of her was on fire. Her heart beat with the rhythm of a thousand drums.

But little did Lois know, that Psycho Pirate feasted heartily on the jealous lust that was consuming her. He had twice the normal amount of negative emotions - Lois's envy and fear of losing her husband- to sustain him. And at the rate she was going, she would also die within a week.

"Revenge is sweet," he cackled to himself, his golden mask glittering in the moonlight.

Three days in and Clark was at a loss. He had to call for help.

And that's when Bruce Wayne found himself riding an elevator up to the Lane-Kent apartment. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. No sooner had he stepped out, he was greeted with shrieks and shouting. He bolted down the hall in the direction of the cries and that's where he found a bewildered Clark Kent and neighbors watching a bedraggled Lois tossing his possessions out into the hall like a scene from every woman-scorned film he had ever seen.

"Lois, stop! Stop it!" Clark cried desperately. "Why are you doing this?!"

"You need to be free!" she wailed, tossing his socks and underwear into the air like confetti. "I love you so much! I just want you to be happy!" She threw a suitcase against the wall, causing everyone to scatter out of the way.

"This is the most ass-backwards domestic dispute ever," whispered a woman with rollers in hair to a man wearing a pinstripe bathrobe.

"I know," he responded, eyes wide as Lois continued on with her tirade. "Usually, a husband hits the curb when he's been cheating... But this one, she _wants_ him to be with someone else."

"She looks like she's been on meth," muttered another.

"Holy shit! Is that Bruce Wayne?!" someone shouted over the fray. Lois stop immediately at the mention of his name. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as she staggered forward and roughly grasped Bruce's cheeks between her trembling hands.

"I k-know when I am beat," she... "I know you can love him better than I can. I know you can make him happy!"

"I don't want Clark," Bruce sniffed indignantly. "He's not my type."

"I can't compete with you!" Lois cried, spittle landing on Bruce's face. "You're so beautifully barrel-chested! And rich! And you smell like old money had a baby with the cast of a CW show!" Bruce narrowed his eyes at her, not knowing if she had just insulted him or if these were the rants of a madwoman. Then, Lois broke down sobbing, collapsing into a heaps. She began to roll on the ground, bouncing off the walls, Clark chasing after her hoping to protect his wife's dignity.

"Pick up your wife and let's go, Kent," Bruce huffed, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

"W-where are we going?" Clark sputtered, pulling a thrashing Lois over his shoulder.

"To the hospital."

"These nanites in her bloodstream were designed by one Roger Hayden. A.K.A.-"

"Psycho Pirate!" Superman interjected, earning a glare from Batman.

"-which you could have detected with your microscopic vision," he seethed.

"Um, I have been having problems with my powers lately," the Kryptonian confessed, his cheeks blossoming with crimson. "Lex and I have been fighting alot in the past month and he uses Kryptonite like crazy. So... Think E.D. but for my powers."

Batman simply sighed at his friend's odd plotdevice excuse.

"Anyway, they seem to have entered her system through this puncture wounds on her foot," he continued.

"The new janitor!" Superman shouted again. Bruce rolled his eyes behind his white lens. "Lois stepped on a thumb tack a few days ago when this old janitor claimed he had been cleaning them up... She starting going nuts minutes after that."

"Well, I've used low level radiation to destroy them. Lois will be fine in a few minutes. Why would Psycho Pirate go after your wife?"

"Oh, cause I think I foiled his escape from Arkham years ago. He threaten my life but you know how things are. You get busy and forget," Lois chirped as the radiation scanner roamed over her pliant form.

"He threatened your life and you just forgot?" Batman asked incredulously.

"Do you know who I am and what I do? I'm Lois Lane! Daily Planet's Number One Reporter!" she barked. "I ruin the lives every day! I use hate mail when we're low on toilet paper!" She pointed to her purse without a single word. Her husband rummaged through it until he found her date book and placed it into her waiting hands. Lois flipped through it until she founds the page she was looking for. She held it up for Superman to read aloud:

"5/31: 7pm. Weekly dinner with Lex Luthor. Until my natural death."

He showed Batman the date book. The entry went on like for every Friday until the end of the year.

"He just yells at me for an hour and half while I down all the caviar and champagne I can," Lois explained in a casual tone. "It's worth the risk of gout."

Batman had no words. He prayed for the scan to hurry up, so that they could Pyscho Pirate and the Lane-Kents would get the hell out his cave.

Roger Hayden was scrubbing the urinal in the mensroom of the Daily Planet for one moment and then he was in the yard of Blackgate the next.

"Here's the evidence as confirmed by Star Labs and Metropolis General, warden," he heard Superman say as he passed a hefty manila folder into the hands of a portly, balding man in a cheap suit. "Mrs. Lane-Kent has file her charges with the police. A judge ordered the warrant and as requested he be held here until Mr. Hayden will be transferred back to Arkham for his evaluation and pending trial. I am just making the arrest."

"I am glad to see you finally learned how due process works," the warden smiled, clapping the Kryptonian on the shoulders. "Thank you. I'll take it from here." Roger was stunned as several guard emerged, dragging his away to a cell with his scrub brush still in hand.

"W-wait!" he finally sputtered, his confusion giving way to realization. "How did you know it was me?!"

The caped crusader smirked.

"Honestly, you thought you could go after Mrs. Lane-Kent, on of the nation's top investigative reporter, and not have her figure it out?" And then, he rocketed away, Roger's furious cries trailing after him.


End file.
